By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the air was cool and the skies over Los Angeles were painted in fading pinks and deepening greys. They had been walking for hours, the city’s never-ending sprawl stretching on longer than any of them had anticipated.
Peter groaned dramatically, dragging his feet. “I think my toes are falling off. Or bleeding. Or both. Either way—I’m filing a complaint with the Werewolf Travel Bureau.”
Nathan exhaled through his nose. “Fine. We’ll stop for the night. But we leave at first light.”
“Bless you,” Peter said, already glancing around for nearby shelter like a man hallucinating an oasis.
They found a roadside motel just off the quieter side of the highway, nestled between an empty gas station and an old liquor store with flickering signage. The mot
